Untitled
by slyminx01
Summary: just read it.


"You won't forget me, will you?" The blue-eyed girl asked hopefully.

"Me? Forget?" The green-eyed boy said with an impish grin, "Never." He continued more seriously. The two looked into each other's eyes not wanting or believing they had come this far and yet achieved so little.

"You will come back, won't you?" she asked once more, desperately trying to find the smallest sliver of hope to cling onto, though her heart already knew the unwanted answer, even if he didn't.

"To hear stories" he said, dashing his infamous grin, "about me". And with that, he flew up into the night sky until all she could see was that twinkle that came from that star to the left.

"Wendy! Wendy!" My brother Michael called from the next room over. "I've got it! I finally got it!"

I rubbed my eyes from the lack of sleep then drowsily made my way over into his bedroom. Once I walked in, it was suddenly five years ago and I was twelve. Michael's bed became our trunk full of toys, his shelf of knick knacks became my bed, but the window stayed the same, it always stayed the same.

"Wendy? Are you alright?" Michael asked moving closer to me. I closed my eyes shut, trying to shake the image out of my head, and when I opened them once more everything was back in its place. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"What did you need to show me?" I asked, completely ignoring Michael's question and hoping he wouldn't notice.

Once again, he started jumping up and down with excitement, his eyes lit with exclamation. "I fixed the monkey clock! I did it all by myself and needed no one to help me! You can tell stupid John that I don't need his help! He can just put his foot up his a—"

"Michael!" I chastised. Children these days could just swear like a sailor and think nothing was wrong with that. I remember when Michael used to admire John up and down and John would always give Michael the time of day. But now, John is fifteen, a dreadful age of adolescence. He no longer wants to sit and listen while I tell stories of adventures and heroism. Instead, he spends all his time locked up in his room doing God knows what.

Of course, I have no right to say anything. I've been doing the exact same thing. Hardly giving Michael the time of day, spending time away from home as long as possible, and what really hurts Michael the most, never telling stories. Since John is never there, he doesn't notice. But every time I make up excuses to get out of storytelling, I notice Michael walking away, head down, making his way towards John's room. My heart breaks each time that happens.

"Wendy!" Michael yelled, pulling me away from my thoughts. "You're not listening to me again!"

"I'm sorry Michael. What were you saying?" I brushed a hair that had gone astray, from his face and bid him to come sit by me on the bed. Instead, he just stands there, looking at me, suddenly making me feel exposed of all my secrets and thoughts. I glance away, immediately.

"Do you miss him?" he asked, hesitantly. His question caught me off guard; I had to blink a couple of times to make sure I heard him right. "Wendy? Answer my question."

"I can't…" I hadn't realized I was crying until a sob escaped my mouth. I wiped my tears away then stood up and started walking out the door.

"Because… I've seen him" I stopped in my tracks, deciding whether or not I heard him right.

"What did you say?" I asked, surprised at the harsh tone coming from me.

"He comes by my window sometimes. He never stops by, he just flies and once in a while he'll glance inside. I haven't talked to him… he's…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

"He's what Michael? What is he?!" I yelled, making my little brother jump. Something inside of me was begging me to stop, but I couldn't. I was on fire, and I wouldn't be put out.

"…different" That one word, a word I would never have put him in the same category with, immediately put out the fire.

I slumped down to the floor, exhausted from the pressure and the excitement. Michael immediately came to my side.

"Are you lying?" I asked I could hardly hear my own voice; it was barely higher than a whisper.

"Why would he lie about that?" Hearing John's voice made me jump and my head snap up.

"How long were you listening?" I asked, defensively.

"Long enough…" He looked at me with those always judging eyes of his, but instead of judgment, I saw pity. And that was worse, much, much worse. I stood up, brushed the lint that clung to my nightgown. I turned away from my brothers and walked out into my room, across the hall. I closed the door gently, leaning my head against it. I stayed there, frozen in time for a few minutes. I thought of nothing, felt nothing… was nothing. And it was bliss, sweet bliss…


End file.
